Akatsuki in the Court of Pure Souls
by JAK Kinase
Summary: Itachi and Deidara are dead. But then they meet this guy with bells on his hair... Crossover between Naruto and Bleach. Crack. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine, yadda yadda.

Chapter title: So it begins

* * *

"This is… mmmm… annoying. Wake up already you asshole."

Itachi Uchiha blinked. And without strain either, which meant he had probably died some time between his last gift as a brother and… being carried piggy-back by a rather unlikely shinobi. Buildings, people (souls?) and a rather mundane skyscape flitted by, none of it explaining his current method of travel.

"Report." He croaked.

Deidara made a vicious sound that was somewhere between annoyance and a jaded, ho-hum admiration that usually only came about after something had exploded.

"We're dead, you fuckwit. And death's as much of a bitch as life was." There was a vaguely strangled quality to his voice. "I'm a long-range fighter, mmkay? This sword shit is _not_ my crap. I save your ass this one time, you beat up chumps until I figure out how to make art again, um?"

"We're dead." Itachi stated. Useless, but with Deidara, useless usually elicited more information. While interesting, the terrorist's report was not the sort of concise explanation that the shinobi appreciated. Not that Deidara was a typical ninja in any respect.

"I know!" The blond hissed. "You'd think that a stand-up guy like me would go to somewhere artistic. But noooo…"

Personally, Itachi had been expecting somewhere with fire and brimstone. He would take this particular incarnation over that. So far.

Maybe.

After some cajoling (which, for Itachi, meant more repetitious nonsense and some vague silences that Deidara obligingly leaped in to fill) he learned that they were either caught in an elaborate genjutsu or that Deidara's somewhat colourful description of the afterlife was correct.

Itachi made a few mental notes as Deidara continued to rush through the city streets. One: death was similar to life in that sustenance of various sorts was required. It was possible to 'die' again from various causes: lack of nutrition, blood, bodyheat, etc. Two: 'shinigami' were an authoritarian police force not unlike ANBU, distinguished by the presence of bladed weapons. Three: they were being chased by theses shinigami for reasons unknown.

Four: he had a bladed weapon.

He examined it was some interest. If Deidara's musings were correct, it was somehow a symbol of status and prestige. He was not certain why Deidara had not simply taken it from him but had rather carted him along with it. It appeared rather nondescript: the sheathe was approximately a meter long, the hilt plain and unelaborated. A serviceable weapon.

But not his first choice.

He tried to activate the sharingan. As he suspected, nothing happened. He attempted a few discrete jutsu but none of that seemed to be working either.

So be it.

"Let me down."

"_Finally_." Deidara exclaimed, more-or-less tossing him off. "You're heavy, um. My arms would have fallen off carrying you further, yeah."

As Itachi had known Deidara to have beaten a kage-level shinobi, this was a somewhat absurd statement.

"Have you attempted engaging in combat with these shini-"

"Oh hells yeah." Vicious, gleeful smile that bespoke of blood and smoking craters. "And most of them are… mmmm… weak as sissies. But there's this crazy guy with bells who will _not_ give up-"

Itachi realized that there was, somewhat far away, a billowing cloud of dust that appeared to be knocking aside buildings. It wasn't particularly fast by shinobi standards but there seemed to be a particularly strong killing intent residing in the middle of that inferno.

He wondered how exactly he had failed to notice it.

"Is that it?"

Deidara sounded somewhat miserable despite all the wanton destruction that was on display. "Yeah, um. That's him for– HOLY F-"

Itachi had merely intended to take his sword out of his sheathe. It would do no good if he could not see the deficiencies of his weapon firsthand before an apparently unavoidable fight.

He had not expected the sword to extend nearly four hundred meters straight forward the moment it was out. Itachi glanced at the unwieldy blade before attempting to lift it straight up. Surprisingly, it complied. The blade felt light as a feather.

The cloud of dust seemed to be re-doubling its efforts to make it to them. At the rate it was going, it'd take it another three minutes and twelve seconds.

"Hnnn," Itachi said critically as he examined the blade. "Are they always this long?"

* * *

When the dust cloud had nearly made it to them, Itachi had given up trying to wield his blade. It was too long and too clumsy and it kept on getting stuck on things. Buildings. Clotheslines. Rooftops. Balconies. Indoor swimming pools. And in one memorable case, someone's occupied toilet.

He still hadn't the faintest idea how to return it to his sheathe. He wasn't sure how it'd all fit in their either but he assumed it was one of those being dead things.

Deidara, whose tastes no one could understand, appeared to be doing his best to die laughing.

Again.

A little voice piped up. "You should try making it shorter."

Both shinobi had been S-class missing nin for over ten years. They had weathered horrors and terrors that were beyond imagining and had gained survival instincts to match. Neither had noticed the pintsized midget with candyfloss pink hair approach.

"What the fuck." The Suna shinobi said eloquently.

Itachi blinked. He considered attacking it, but since it apparently wasn't hostile he decided it might be better not to.

"…I will try." He agreed.

The little pink ball clapped her hands, smiling. "Yay! Ken-chan'll be happy! He's been bored for _days_ now."

It was the oddest feeling, but Itachi would have sworn he just heard a collective shiver at the little girl's worlds.

"…bored?" He asked, guardedly. He tried making the blade shrink. The principle could not be so different from chakra shape manipulation if these blades were an extension of the soul which he was starting to suspect the reason why Deidara hadn't merely taken it from him.

"Ken-chan hasn't had anyone to play with since the war ended." The pink-haired girl explained obligingly if somewhat incoherently. "Well, Ichigo was around but he had to leave for something or another." Her face made a little mou of distaste. "He's alwaaaays leaving come to think of it. And the pretty captain _always _refuses to play." Something like a light dawned on her as she said, in a whispered giggle: "The two of you are pretty too."

Itachi, having once impersonated a woman without using a henge for an extremely important assignment for Pein, found it difficult to refute that statement. Still, it wasn't particularly relevant. He squinted: the blade appeared to be retracting. Slowly. It'd be a serviceable weapon within twenty-four hours. At least.

He considered snapping the blade but as it had gone straight through solid stone, metal and ceramic it was unlikely to be so easily shattered.

"What the fuck." Deidara repeated.

"Manners," Itachi rebuked briefly, an eye on the approaching natural disaster.

After a moment, it finally made it to them in a little jangle of bells. Six foot seven. Ragged haori. Eyepatch. Hair in ridiculous spikes; bells on the top. Aggressively unkempt appearance.

Itachi glanced at Deidara. Deidara rolled his eyes. _You'll see._

"Alright you pansy-ass bastards, stop fucking running away and fight like-"

"Ken-chan! They've been waiting for you!"

There was a moment of deathly silence.

'Ken-chan' smiled.

* * *

_Ne, ne, Ken-chan, can I play with blondie?_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine, yadda yadda.

Chapter Title: A Fight

* * *

Death was, to borrow a note out of Deidara's book, profoundly messed up.

Even the underlying logic to battle was different.

The spike-haired shinigami, who introduced himself as 'Kenpachi Zaraki, eleventh division captain blah blah blah let's fight already pansy-ass pretty-boy', was almost brutally unskilled. He didn't appear to have a set style, nor any particular appreciation for the blade, employing it more like a stick that happened to be sharp on one end. If they'd been alive, Itachi could have dispatched him in one blow.

But in death, what mattered was not skill. But strength.

And Kenpachi Zaraki happened to be ridiculously, stupidly strong.

Itachi had been forced to abandon his weapon the moment Zaraki attacked, road and asphalt parting like water in front of the monstrous swings. After determining that there was a force effect in play, not unlike a blade infused with wind elemental chakra, Itachi stopped to observe, intent on determining the exact range of the unusually-brittle looking blade. Unusual because it was clearly powerful enough to split stone without any apparent wear or tear: the pits and grooves remained exactly the same no matter how many times it was swung.

Killing intent fit for a kage tried to floor him.

It didn't, of course.

"Hell _yes_." Kenpachi said cryptically before rushing forward.

Perhaps it was his imagination or lack of familiarity with shinigami culture, but the eleventh division captain appeared particularly pleased when his opponent didn't immediately fall to the ground like a genin, thoughts askew, heart rate trying to mimic a mouse or rabbit.

Itachi dodged the thrust by a hair, watched as it still tore a hole through his Akatsuki cloak. Flowing with the blow he moved forwards and hit the shinigami eighteen times at various nerve junctions.

Kenpachi's reply nearly took off his head, opening a cut on his cheek as Itachi leaped backwards. Perhaps death wasn't _quite_ as redundant as he had first thought. Bodies, at least, were not made the same way in death as they were in life.

"Oh come _on,_" the man growled. "Use your fucking Zanpakuto already."

As this was likely to result in a rather ignoble death where he was cut to pieces while his blade was stuck on a shower curtain or a telephone pole, Itachi ignored him, content to watch and learn.

"Ken-chan is going to get _bored_," the little girl warned. Itachi spared a quick glance and... was that _glitter_ in Deidara's hair?

He whipped his head around in time to see another blow, aimed to decapitate. Having estimated – within reason – the range of the blade, Itachi ducked the blow and replied with a palm strike to the throat and an eagle blow to eye that should have incapacitated. Instead, he nearly broke his fingers. Fortunately, he could flawlessly follow the clumsy attacks and dodged the blow. Irritated, Kenpachi attacked again only for the Uchiha scion to continue moving just far enough out of the way.

A few more exchanges and Itachi had confirmed it: he could not injure the shinigami.

And the shinigami could not follow his speed.

Hnnn.

Logic dictated that he retreat, regroup and reassess the enemy.

He didn't, for two reasons: the first was the little child, she had displayed an unnerving amount of stealth skill and was somehow controlling Deidara; the second was his lack of knowledge about the afterlife. He had neither the means nor, likely enough, the time to properly reconnoitre.

No, every experience he gained in this battle would be valuable.

A spike in the shinigami's killing intent was his only warning before he was attacked by… rocks? Itachi was forced to squint his eyes against the glare: a maelstrom of pure yellow power had surrounded the shinigami, picking up stray pieces of road and rubble and flinging them in various frenzied directions making the haphazard attack nearly impossible to read.

But nearly impossible was nowhere close to 'impossible'. Even without sharingan eyes, Itachi manoeuvred through the impromptu hail with nearly no trouble, taking refuge behind a rather picturesque homestead.

He took a breath.

Blinked.

There was a boom and then the shinigami was somehow right in front of him. Itachi's eyes widened as he ducked – too slow – and was flung across the street. He felt a rib crack and tried to stabilize the injury. Broken ribs could piece internal organs.

Itachi took it back: death was still redundant.

"Prissy bastard, making me fucking use shunpo." The spike-haired shinigami muttered, debris falling off his head as he exited the homestead. There was now a human-shaped hole extending lengthwise. Its structural integrity appeared to be questionable.

Somehow the shinigami's hairstyle was intact.

Itachi got to his feet.

Instead of replying, Itachi tried to mimic 'shunpo'. It didn't appear extraordinarily difficult: the shinigami had gathered chakra to his feet and- When he appeared in front of the larger shinigami, Zaraki's eye widened right before Itachi tripped him, slammed an elbow into his gut and aimed a cross-chop designed to make his larynx collapse.

Or rather, that's what should have happened.

The first blow made it feel like he was hitting a mountain. Instead of courteously falling Zaraki lifted an eyebrow and kicked him away, nearly breaking his arm in three places.

"The fuck was that supposed to be?"

"You are very solid," Itachi murmured politely as he got to his feet.

"Not to say that trying to swat you out of the air isn't exciting, but go get your fucking Zanpakuto."

Itachi blinked.

He was doing that a lot lately. The novelty of having eyes that didn't bleed spontaneously or try to explode on him hadn't worn thin quite yet. He wondered if it ever would.

"I'm not sure how to shrink it," Itachi admitted, assuming that 'Ken-chan' was referring to the bladed weapon.

Zaraki seemed to be trying to fit into words how exactly one might accomplish this task but if his exaggerated body language had anything to say about it, this was probably a task he was somewhat unused to accomplishing. After a moment of pinwheeling his arms, the eleventh division captain finally gave up and growled: "Ah, whatever. Blood'll teach ya."

He looked positively ecstatic at the thought.

Itachi rolled away from the next blow and found himself in front Deidara. Deidara was busy… playing with the pink-haired girl. When he noticed Itachi's expression, the Suna shinobi gave him a desperate, pleading expression. The self-described artist's eyes traveled to the girl and then to Itachi and back again. As Deidara's hair now had glitter and swirly things stuck into it, Itachi interpreted this gesture as an 'all-clear' sign and turned pointedly away.

Deidara uttered a muffled shriek and presumably gave him the middle finger.

Itachi ignored him.

So, nerve strikes weren't working. Leverage – apparently – wasn't working. His speed advantage was not _quite _null but potentially close to null. Time to try something new.

Chakra wasn't quite the same as before but after mimicking 'shunpo', Itachi had a vague idea of what how it worked. Closer to nature chakra manipulation than chakra molding for jutsus. He had to make his chakra sharp. His primary element in life had been fire, but he could do enough wind manipulation jutsu to manage.

He focused on his dominant hand. Felt it toughen. Curve.

Sharp. Sharper.

His blade, unnoticed to everyone, started sinking into the ground.

In the next exchange of blows he felt Zaraki lose a layer of skin even as he lost a fringe of hair. Not good enough. He had to be sharper. He focused on his fingertips. On the nails. Sharper… sharper…

All that was left visible of his blade was the hilt.

The next blow pierced skin but not bone, but not deep enough to reach the heart. Itachi leapt back but Zaraki had gone stock still.

"You hurt me with your hands." Zaraki whispered.

Then he started laughing, as if he'd just been told the best joke he ever heard.

"You hurt me with your_ hands._" Zaraki repeated, distinctly reminding Itachi of Hidan. "How long has it been- ha, hahahahahaha." Zaraki bent over laughing, one hand on his eyepatch. Somehow Itachi knew that attacking at this precise moment would be a bad idea.

The monstrous shinigami straightened.

"Four hours. I'll give you four hours to figure out how to make your zapakuto work. If you can get your hands to injure _me_…" He broke into laughter. "Oh this'll be _great_. Four hours. Then I'll be back. Come on, Yachiru."

The little girl patted Deidara on the head. "Bye Dei-chan!" She turned to Itachi and bowed. "Bye pretty man!"

She ran up to her captain. "Ken-chan! You're so generous!"

"I know, I know, getting soft in my old age-"

The two battered akatsuki members stared at the departing natural disasters. Then at each other.

Deidara had pink lipstick splashed liberally on his lips and cheeks. Poorly applied eyeliner. Pink and green sparkles in his hair. As well as swirly things. Itachi was aware that he probably did not look much better. His cloak was torn, his face bloody. His dominant arm felt like one big bruise.

"This is Hell." Deidara announced without preamble. "This is definitely Hell."

* * *

Author's Notes: Itachi interprets 'spiritual power' as 'killing intent'. Now I know that canonically Kenpachi doesn't have access to shunpo, but whatever. He learned it during the war. Or something. To Kk and Alchino: thanks for reviewing!


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